


Regular Fuck

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-12
Updated: 2007-01-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 01:17:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12070746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: The thing about being Brian Kinney's regular fuck is that you have to be prepared for him to wanna have sex at any time.





	Regular Fuck

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: Season One-ish  


* * *

The thing about being Brian Kinney's regular fuck is that you have to be prepared for him to wanna have sex at any time. But, like, really. Any. Time. Doesn't matter if you're at the diner or walking down the street at high noon or even in the middle of fucking someone else- when he's in the mood *you* had better be in the mood. If not, you risk losing his interest forever.

Or at least until he gets high or horny or a mediocre blowjob in the restroom of Woody's from the Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hairless he had spotted the week before at Babylon. He prowls over to the pool table you are casually propped on, watching as Ted takes for-fucking-ever to line up a shot.

"Back so soon?" Emmett asks glibly and you smirk when, after minutes of preparation, the only thing Ted sinks is the white ball.

Brian ignores him, instead he casually reaches into the table's pocket and says, "No wonder you have no sex life, Theodore. You can't even handle *these* balls." With a flick of his wrist he sends the errant ball crashing into its colorful mates, completely fucking up their placement on the table.

"Hey," protests Michael. "We *were* playing, ya know."

"Barely. Come on, Sunshine, I need you to finish me off." Brian's gaze slides to catch yours and then he is turning and walking away.

"That's so typical," Emmett tsks. "You just expect him to come running when you snap your fingers, like the boy has no sense of value or self-wor-"

"Coming!" You cut in, finishing your beer with one last gulp and hopping to catch up.

You nearly crash into him in your eagerness and most times he'd at least pretend to be annoyed. Instead, he smiles, that sexy smile that only uses half his mouth and makes his eyes heavy with the promise of fucking and sucking and coming, and you *know* he's had more then just whiskey.

Which is totally, completely, absolutely alright by you.

He catches the back of your neck in one large hand and uses it to steer you into the handicapped stall. He doesn't loosen his hold until he has you turned around and backed into the porcelain sink. It hits you at about mid-ass and he backs up and runs you into it again until you get the idea, jumping up so that you're sitting on it. Dampness seeps into your cargo pants and you know when you get up you'll have water marks that he'll tease you for, but with his hand on your zipper and his hips between your thighs, you find you don't mind.

His warm hand finds your cock just as his tongue finds your lips, and you open your mouth, eager to let him in. Your hips buck, wanting more contact, as the taste of smoke and nicotine is pushed into your mouth. You meet it, gladly, and after heavy, dirty kisses where your tongues meet more then your lips, his taste changes. Smoke and barley- his cigarettes and your beer, and you groan, knowing you taste the same.

When you break apart, you bury your face in his neck, smell the sweat on his skin and the leather of his jacket as it melts with his cologne. You lick the salty traces from his skin, up his neck, and you taste the roughness as your tongue moves up his light stubble.

"Wanna suck me off, little boy?"

You grin, but shake your head. Wordlessly, your hand steals into his back pocket and he smiles when you produce the condom he stuffed in there earlier, as you watched him prepare for the evening.

"Want me to bend you over this sink and fuck you so hard you won't be able to sit tomorrow?"

In answer you put the packet between your teeth and offer it to him. With a quirked eyebrow he leans closer to take the other corner between his teeth and together you manage to rip the plastic open, easily catching the latex in the air before it falls onto your lap. You slip it on to his cock with a movement made quick through practice, your fingers lingering only when his head tilts back to savor the intimate contact. His throat is exposed, vulnerable, and you can't help but graze your teeth across the proffered flesh. He hisses and suddenly his hands are rough on your waist, bruising, as he pulls you away.

Your eyes meet and his are clouded by chemicals and lust.

"Fuck me," you say and, before you can take your next breath, you find yourself bent over the sink, eyes level with the dull glint of a faucet, pants around your ankles.

He lines his cock up to your hole and this time there's no teasing, no dramatic pause until you to beg for it- just the hot, sweet burn of *him* as he forces his way in. He doesn't wait for your instinctive clenching to stop, just feeds you his cock, inch by inch, until you are spitted open and gasping.

You catch a glimpse of your face in the mirror and can only watch your image- cheeks flushed, hair mussed, mouth open in a pant- for a moment before your eyes slide automatically to Brian's reflection.

Fuck, but he's beautiful.

You watch his blissed-out face as sweat beads across his hairline. An angry red stains his neck and that, at least, should be ugly but your cock just gets harder, needier, at the sight. His hips are drilling into you, pounding out a punishing rhythm that you can feel reverberating from your scalp to your toes. You can see a thatch of hair and brief flashes of cock as it disappears and reappears from your desperately moving ass.

Too soon your eyes roll back and you're coming with a strangled breath, teeth gnashing together as your body shakes apart.  
Fingers in your hair and your head is forced back sharply into an awkward, painful angle. His mouth bites down onto yours and you barely feel the sharp sting of his teeth. He rides your ass ruthlessly, frantic for a release that comes with a groan and a grimace.

He pulls out and disposes of the condom and you're still in a daze- nerves zinging with sensations that will probably still have your skin tingling hours from now. He tucks away his cock and rearranges his clothes and, with a sharp smack on your ass, encourages you to do the same. You comply, slowly.  
You don't recover from coming your brains out quite as quickly as he does.

He rubs the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip and you can feel the abused flesh throb at the contact.

"Gonna have a bruise later."

"Yeah," you agree, drawing out the word with a smile. You'll looked marked, used, and you aren't bothered by the thought in the least.

He shakes his head but you can see the approval in his eyes.

"You're gonna look well-fucked."

"I was," you answer, catching his thumb with an affectionate lick.


End file.
